


Judging Distances

by AWarningSign



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Devout catholics as written by a bemused but well meaning atheist, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Immediately post s1ep10, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25974079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWarningSign/pseuds/AWarningSign
Summary: 5 Sister Warriors, 4 injuries, 3 days of driving, 2 existential crises and 1 beat-up people carrier.OrLife is a highway, and Beatrice is driving at night in a stolen van.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 64
Kudos: 476





	1. 1. Not how far away, but how you say it

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chapter headings bastardized from the poem Judging Distances by Henry Reed.  
> My GCSE English teacher would immediately drop dead, and then proceed to spin in his grave like the end of a wash cycle upon discovering that I used this poem in this context.  
> Mr Davis, eat your heart out.

The halo ached.

It slipped beneath her radar for the first fever-dream days of her rebirth. The constant running, training, fighting for her life was enough to distract her – myriads of new sensations to drown out the dull pain. She only truly recognised it - felt it deep down in her bones, the night following their sojourn to the Vatican. 

Her whole body sang with a thousand new hurts; Ava had felt so many since waking in the morgue that she was close to losing count. But now, sat cooped in the back of a stolen getaway vehicle, the most overwhelming pain radiated from between her shoulder blades. It made her hunch over in a futile attempt to ease the dull throb. It knitted her back into a mosaic of tightness and discomfort, and she fidgeted miserably between her silent sisters.

They were all in pain, Ava knew. They were all bruised and bloodstained, battered and exhausted. They had been beset by a powerful, terrifying foe.

They had all been betrayed.

The silence in the van was heavy, misted occasionally with deep sighs and muttered prayer. Ava sat buckled into the middle seat, sandwiched between Camila and Lilith. Beatrice drove, while Mary sat in the passenger seat and cursed whenever a pothole or sharp turn jostled her. Ava could see the corner of the torn fabric Mary had clasped against her right arm, watched the dark fabric darken further with blood.

Ava hunched in on herself, scrunching her eyes shut. Behind her eyelids she saw again the macabre scenes in the plaza where they’d fought Adriel, and the horde of possessed innocents. They’d moved like a liquid. The crowd had oozed like treacle across the cobbles, surged in waves of muffled groaning - clawed hands and blackened eyes.

Ava had honestly expected to die. Again. She’d seen it charging toward her in Adriel, in the manic gleam in his eyes. She’d felt it in the sickening burn of the Halo as it flared, starkly outside of her control.

She didn’t really remember all of what happened next. What she did recall came in flashes; crystal clear yet disjointed snapshots. It was as if, in her fear and anger and concentration her mind had selected only the most burning images, and let the rest fade into a haze of adrenaline.

She remembered charging forward after Mary, feeling more than seeing her companions fanning out across the courtyard. She could remember hearing Mary yelling out. She remembered seeing Camila stumbling, caught amidst a heaving crowd of the possessed. She remembered Lilith, full of otherworldly strength, hair fanned behind her as she leapt at Adriel – remembered her being thrown like a rag doll.

The others told her how she’d swung the cruciform sword at Adriel. They told her how he’d raised his hands and the sword struck the air before him as if it were granite. It had produced a sound like the striking of a gong, and Ava had cried out with it, halo glowing with a ferocious light. 

Ava remembered locking eyes with Adriel. She remembered the strange depths of his gaze, remembered the feeling of power roaring out of her and around her. She remembered her fear. For herself, yes – but mostly for her sisters. Suddenly, she felt a shard of what Areala felt, slowly bleeding out in the dust hundreds of years ago, face to face with death but surprisingly calm – an echo of a faith she wasn’t sure she had. She’d felt the sword vibrate even as her grip loosened, lost in a half-memory; locked in Adriel’s gaze.

But then someone had cried out, maybe her name, maybe not even words. That shout shattered whatever spell she’d fallen prey to and the world rushed back in.

Ava remembered snapping her head around at the shout, remembered seeing Beatrice across the square. Remembered the icy shock of soul deep fear. But then it  _ wasn’t  _ fear - it was just a rush of power, as if Ava had finally found her fight reflex - finally provoked to decisive action.

The one clear thought Ava remembered through the fervor of her righteous anger was “don’t you fucking touch her.”

And then -

well.

Adriel hadn’t fucking touched them, after that.

Afterwards, she’d found herself flat on her back, staring bemusedly up at the fearful faces of her newfound sisters. Her ears rang, her throat was hoarse and her whole body  _ ached _ with a new fierceness. She’d apparently passed out - gracelessly and dramatically, in Mary’s words - and been carried away from the aftermath, only waking as they were passing Rome’s city limits.

In the van, Ava rubbed wearily at her brow, a stubborn headache lodged behind her eyes.

The road stretched ahead, occasional blooming spots of light illuminating the windscreen as lonely cars passed them. It was nearly midnight, her legs were numb from the hours of stillness. Ava sat up with a soft sigh, staring blankly forward as they sped on through the darkness. The hum of tires on tarmac, the drone of the engine, the susurrus of her sisters’ breathing was lulling her, exhaustion finally overcoming the nag of pain. She felt herself nodding… nodding… nodding…

…

Beatrice’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. No matter the miles between them and the hellish things they’d seen and done in Rome, she could still keenly feel Adrial’s breath upon the back of her neck. The quiet darkness of the road stretching out before her occasionally blurred into the darkness of the necropolis, sometimes flashed with the glow of divinium. The weary silence in the van sometimes gave way to the echoes of the wailing, groaning damned, to the clatter of weapons on stone.

Every time her concentration on the road was broken in this way Beatrice would forcibly unclench her hands, would count her breaths and offer up a silent prayer to God for their safe deliverance. For guidance. For some kind of  _ sign  _ that they were on the right path – that  _ she  _ was on the right path. 

Beatrice was long used to her role as informal chief of strategy, but the weight of her sisters’ silent expectations had never hung heavier around her shoulders than it did now.

She was driving them in the vague direction of home – of Cat’s Cradle, and it’s relative safety. What they would find at the end of the solid 25 hours of driving remained to be seen. It was something Beatrice couldn’t prepare for, another unknown hanging like the Sword of Damocles above her head.

She simply had to have _ faith. _

Faith that Mother Superion had survived, had escaped the carnage at the Vatican. Faith that the new Holy Father had not immediately excommunicated them, faith that they would not be met with violence. She had to hope that their betrayal ran no deeper than Vincent. While her faith in God was nigh unshakable, placing faith in other humans was another matter.

Beatrice flexed her hands against the gritty leather of the wheel.

“You getting tired? We can swap out.” Mary’s voice was pitched low, in deference to the hour, to those dozing in the back seats.

“You probably shouldn’t drive.” Beatrice replied in kind, flicking a glance across to see Mary’s replying glare - entirely expected.

“You gonna drive us the whole way there yourself?” Mary flapped a hand out to gesticulate at the road disappearing into the darkness, before immediately wincing. Beatrice raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps not the whole way, no. But you’re injured, and I’d rather not risk you exacerbating that.” Mary had been pulled from beneath a pile of the possessed cradling her right arm, blood pouring from between her fingers, pained and full of fury. Lilith had set Mary back on her feet, and they’d flung themselves forward against the masses.

Beatrice shook her head lightly. 

“Do I  _ really _ need both arms to drive? C’mon, it’d be fine.” Mary scoffed, and Beatrice sighed quietly.

“Mary, just rest, OK? I’m keeping an eye out for towns and villages off the main road. There are more than enough churches around here for us to beg a night of sanctuary from.” 

“Hey, no. You  _ know _ we need to get back as quick as we can. We should push through. The sooner we get back the sooner we get after Adriel and his little bitch.” Mary’s voice rose in frustration. This wasn’t the first time Mary and Beatrice had argued around this loop. Beatrice let out a tired, hollow bark of laughter.

“Look at us, Mary. You could have done all sorts of damage to that shoulder, and you’ve only just barely stopped bleeding. Camila’s ribs are bruised or maybe even fractured. Lilith and Ava are recovering from goodness knows  _ what  _ otherworldly powers they’ve been tapping into.” 

Mary opened her mouth to interject or protest, but Beatrice powered on. She allowed her voice to show a fraction of the turmoil she felt - suddenly tired of the argument, determined to impress upon Mary the seriousness of the situation. “We have next to no ammunition, one half of our emergency gear, barely any money and no food. We’re escaping in a stolen vehicle from the public spectacle we made of ourselves after _blowing up_ the seat of the Catholic Church - with no idea how many people are searching for us, or what is waiting when we return. We need _proper_ medical attention. We need time to rest, to resupply and work out something less likely to get us all killed than _this!”_ The sharp sound of a palm striking the wheel punctuated the end of Beatrice’s speech.

There was a long silence.

“Alright, I hear you.” 

There was a faint mumbling from behind the driver's seat. Beatrice glanced in the mirror, a tired grin tugging involuntarily at her lips at the sight of Camila snuggled up to Ava, who was in turn slouched sideways into Lilith. Camila seemed to be the source of the mumbling, humming again as she curled further into Ava, who muttered something incomprehensible in response before dropping her head to rest atop Camila’s. Lilith readjusted her own position against the window, Ava’s shoulder resting more fully against her chest - brow pinched slightly even in her sleep.

Mary sighed wearily, twisting awkwardly in her seat to peer back at the stack of sleeping sister warriors.

“It’s always some new bullshit with Ava, isn’t it.” Beatrice tutted absently. “You ever heard about the warrior nun pulling that kinda stunt?” 

Blinding golden light, a shockwave that cracked stone and sent scores of the possessed clattering to the floor. 

All over again, there she was. The moment where Beatrice had seen death, looming clear as day above her. There had been nowhere to move, sprawled in a clumsy half crouch. Caught blindsided and distracted, too busy watching Ava.

Ava - across the courtyard. Ava, locked in combat with the creature that masqueraded as a holy messenger. The angel Adriel, all manic eyes and ungodly strength.

Beatrice had cried out - involuntarily; full of grief and anger and pain. Furious at her own failure, forced to die watching the warrior nun struggle alone in battle. 

But then, a miracle.

Ava had flinched as if struck, head snapping around, eyes flashing with a silvery glow.

And then Ava  _ wasn’t  _ across the courtyard - she was in front of Beatrice. The halo blazed like a furnace, and Beatrice had felt its heat on her face. 

“Yes and no.” Beatrice hedged, blinking away the afterimage.

“We gonna talk about all of that?” Mary drawled, tone entirely too knowing.

“It’s not mentioned in any of the histories I’ve read but -“

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Beatrice could feel Mary’s eyes bore into the side of her head as she stared pointedly at the road.

“Then what did you mean?” Beatrice replied through the tightness in her throat, her chest suddenly heavy.

“I mean whatever it is you and Ava have going on. It’s clearly  _ something,”  _ Mary snorted “considering how much masonry you’ve blown up for each other so far.”

“Mary…” Beatrice sighed.

“Look,” Mary’s tone softened, a gentle murmur in the dark. “I’m not here to judge you. But I can _ see _ you, I can see how you are when you’re together, y’know. Plus, the lil shit actually  _ listens  _ to you.” Beatrice tutted robotically, skewered to the spot by Mary’s observations. “If that’s because she’s got a crush on you the size of the fuckin’ moon, hell - I’m not gonna complain.” 

“Whatever it is you think you see -” Beatrice could hear the fear in her own voice, could see - but not stop - her knuckles whitening again on the wheel.

“Hey, easy. We don’t have to have this conversation now. Just, y’know - I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it.” Mary’s voice was even, calm - as if she hadn’t just exposed Beatrice’s most secret - most sinful - “And  _ breathe  _ girl, this doesn’t have to be a big deal.” 

“It isn’t  _ any  _ kind of deal, Sister. Now please, keep an eye out for road signs. We should stop for the night.”

Mary chuckled easily, and Beatrice had to fight the sudden urge to strike her for how blasé she was, how she  _ dared  _ joke about something so damning, a shame she felt so deeply. 

Silence returned. The road stretched out before Beatrice, the skyline dusted with tiny, distant chips of light. Her knuckles were still white on the wheel.


	2. Things only appear to be things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanctuary is sought, wounds are tended, and important conversations are thoroughly avoided.

Lilith woke from a dream full of dark shadows and distant whispers to a blaring chime. For a split second she flailed, looking in her haze for her alarm clock, patting about at a mess of warm fabric before reality reasserted itself. The incessant tone was from the dashboard of their van - the open drivers’ door goading the vehicle into apoplexy. The warmth beneath Lilith’s roving hand was Ava, and then Camila. Ava’s solid weight had clearly been pressed against Lilith’s shoulder for some time - moving had left an unpleasant cold behind where the other woman had been tucked against her.

“Alright sleepy heads, up we get.” Mary’s firm voice came from the passenger seat, and a rush of cold air filled the cabin as the passenger door swung open.

“Whassa? - Who? I’m up!” Lilith winced as Ava bolted upright, a tiny glimmer of golden light winking through the ragged tears in the halo-bearer’s jacket. 

A truly miserable noise followed Ava’s dramatic awakening, and Lilith’s heart sank. Camila was a handful when forcibly awoken at the best of times.

“Where _are_ we? Why’s so loud.” Camila’s voice was fuzzy, part muffled by her own arm as she flopped across Ava’s lap. 

“C’mon, time to go - we’re not sleeping in the van. Beatrice found us some actual beds, now get up and let’s _go_.” Mary popped Lilith’s door open as she spoke, the fresh night air jolting Lilith fully into wakefulness. Muscles protesting vehemently, she levered herself out of her seat and onto wobbly legs. 

The night was still, quiet. They were far from any main roads - no traffic sounds disturbed them. Behind them loomed an old stone church, gravely shadowed, attended by another smaller building that huddled close to the low graveyard wall. Lilith rolled her shoulders, stretching luxuriously and gazing in wonder at the bright, star filled sky. 

The rest of the van’s occupants did not fare so well. Ava, ever graceful and poised - tumbled out after Lilith like a drunkard, clumsily catching herself on the open door. Camila didn’t move, remaining a grumbling heap across the back seats.

“Camila, c’mon, time to go!” Mary chivvied ineffectually. Lilith sighed, fondly exasperated, remembering countless other occasions Camila refused to be woken. Early training had long been an issue for the young sister warrior. An informal rota had eventually grown up around the routine of rousing her in time to avoid the ire of Mother Superion. Mary was clearly quite out of practice. 

The crunch of gravel underfoot brought Lilith’s attention to Sister Beatrice’s approach. Even shrouded in shadow as she was, the exhaustion was clear in her every movement.

“Good, you’re awake.” She spoke absently, like she was already 4 or 5 sentences ahead in her mind. “Lilith, will you grab the weapons from the boot, hide any that won’t fit in the duffle with the supplies. Ava, keep the sword nearby, but _don’t_ draw attention to it. Please. The priest asked me enough difficult questions already.” Beatrice’s tone was clipped, brooking no argument. Normally it would have ruffled Lilith’s feathers, just on principle. But Beatrice didn’t deserve her ire, Lilith reminded herself sternly - her sister was exhausted, in turmoil. They all were. 

And Beatrice had led them out of the chaos, had delivered them all to safety.

While Beatrice shepherded the coltishly bumbling halo bearer towards the churchyard gate Lilith swiftly stashed any of her visible weapons away, before ducking back into the van to retrieve Camila’s compact crossbow. 

Duffle dutifully packed and slung across her shoulder, Lilith turned her attention to the still prone form of Camila. Mary had given up, clearly. Lilith grinned ruefully before stooping back into the van, bracing herself on the edge of the seat and reaching to shake the smaller woman’s shoulder.

“Ow! Madre de _Dios_ -” Lilith’s action was met with a sudden and shocking stream of cursing - Lilith’s breath caught, remembering Camila being thrown. Seeing her hitting a stone pillar with sickening force -

“Camila! I’m sorry, I didn’t think - Are you ok? What hurts?” 

“Ribs, head -” Camila gasped, voice thick with pain. 

“Can you sit up for me?” Lilith ran a soothing palm down Camila’s spine, before reaching to brush back a few escaped curls from getting in her eyes. Camila shuffled slowly upright, and Lilith found herself hovering awkwardly - hands ready to catch.

Eventually, Camila sat with her feet dangling out of the door, head lolled against the seat and expression folded in pain. Lilith could see the awkward way she held herself, the hissed gasps for air between gritted teeth. Lilith had suffered through more than enough broken and bruised ribs to recognise the look.

What worried her more was the dazed way Camila spoke, the lethargy after being woken, unusual even for her. Lilith made an executive decision.

“Camila, sit forward. I’m going to carry you. That’s it - carefully -”

Camila was light and Lilith gathered her up easily, careful like she was carrying an armful of fine china. The thud of the car door closing provoked a whine that Lilith felt reverberating in her own chest, felt the tug of Camila’s tight grip on her habit.

The duffle bag beat against her back an awkward counterpoint to her even steps. The haft or hilt or butt of some mystery weapon struck her just above a kidney every other step, but she didn’t dare jostle her cargo to fix it. Ahead of her, Beatrice was emerging from the wooden beamed cottage that lay beside the church. Lilith watched her notice Camila’s state, watched her hasten her steps, saw her wince at some secret injury.

“Camila? What’s happened?” Beatrice hurried over to peer at the curled form in Lilith’s hold.

“I think she’s concussed. She was hard to wake, even for her. And she seems -”

“Bea!” Camila exclaimed, dizzily joyful. “Hi, wow, did you _shrink?_ ” Camila wriggled in an attempt to face Beatrice, introducing a bony elbow to Lilith’s ribs in the process. 

“She does seem a little… Off.” Beatrice sighed as the sister warriors shared a dismayed glance. Lilith shifted Camila in her arms to thwart the attempted escape.

“Cam _ila_ , please!” Lilith wheezed out in response to another jab, this one far too close to her solar plexus for comfort.

“Oh! M’sorry Lils. I can definet _\- definitely_ walk so you can put me down if you want to but you are _really_ nice and warm so I’m happy to stay.” Lilith was helpless to the laughter that escaped her, even Beatrice chuckled as Camila dutifully huddled back against Lilith’s chest.

“Ok, Camila, we’d best get you to bed. Let me just sort the car.” Beatrice rubbed briefly at her brow before breaking into a stiff jog back to the abandoned van. 

“It’s definitely bed time, ‘m really tired. Are you tired, Lilith?”

“Not as tired as you, I think.” Muttered Lilith absently.

After a few moments, Beatrice was back.

“Alright, Lilith, follow me.”

The house was quaint, overflowing with old and well loved religious iconography, and Lilith was reminded of every convent or monastery she had ever set foot in. Beatrice led them swiftly down a hallway, past a large dining room with a long trestle table.

Out of a doorway came an older man with greying hair and his hands full of bed linen. Beatrice greeted him in rapid Italian, introducing Lilith and Camila - who he tutted over concernedly. Lilith murmured some absent pleasantries, unable to cast aside her instinctual wariness. Surely this man was harmless, a kindly man of god. Even so, Lilith had learned the hard way that things were not always as they seemed.

Two adjacent doors stood open toward the end of the hallway. Through one, Lilith saw Ava sprawled messily across a narrow bed, apparently asleep in the position she fell in. Beatrice led them into the second room, bustling restlessly to relieve Lilith of the duffle bag and digging through it for their field first aid kit.

The room was sparsely furnished, 2 single beds with plain white sheets, 2 small chests of drawers. It was deeply reminiscent of the dormitories at Cat's Cradle. Mary certainly seemed to feel at home, sat sprawled on a wicker chair in the corner of the room.

“Hey Mary! You sleepy too?” Camila piped up again, ever cheerful, even with a head injury. 

Mary blinked over at Lilith, taking stock of the situation before promptly succumbing to a violent fit of half-stifled, wheezing laughter. 

Lilith glowered at Mary, who only laughed harder. Decisively, she marched over to the nearest bed, shifting to deposit Camila on it. Except Camila did not seem to agree with this idea, gripping on like a koala - arms wrapped tight around Lilith’s neck.

Camila whined a smothered, entirely indecipherable series of protests into Lilith’s shoulder. 

Muttering angrily and studiously ignoring the hoots of laughter, Lilith sat on the edge of the bed, ducking to fix the koala on her lap with her best glare. 

“Camila, what on Earth are you doing?”

“You’re _waaaarm_ Lilith, m’comfy here. Shush now, it’s sleep time.” Beatrice heaved an aggrieved sigh at the foot of the bed, poised with a pen light and a chemical ice pack. 

Mary - who appeared to have been winding down, chose this moment to look back at the tableau before her, before succumbing to another peel of laughter.

“Mary, _shut. Up._ At least make yourself useful will you?” Lilith growled, full of frustration and wishing desperately she had a spare arm to hurl something heavy at her infuriating sister’s head. 

“You could be more helpful, Mary.” Beatrice muttered tersely, a muscle in her jaw ticking visibly as she squatted to peer into Camila’s face. Mary finally sobered at Beatrice’s tone.

“Alright - alright, Beatrice, gimme the torch. Lilith and I can handle Camila.” Mary levered herself to her feet, moving to relieve the medical supplies from Beatrice. 

Beatrice huffed a disparaging noise, clearly preparing to argue.

“You _have_ just driven non-stop for nearly 8 hours, you should get some rest.” Lilith hoped the use of her most commanding tone made up for the surely ridiculous image she made - Camila nuzzled even closer under her chin as if to highlight the point.

It said something about how truly exhausted Beatrice must have been that she gave up so easily. Mary took the ice pack, tossed the open first aid kit up onto the bed by Lilith’s thigh and squatted down - bumping Beatrice with her hip as she did. Beatrice rolled with the motion, swaying heavily before dragging herself upright. 

“I should probably sleep, we should try and leave as early as we can tomorrow.” Slowly, Beatrice tugged her wimple off, massaging her temples before aggressively scrubbing at her face with her hands. 

“Worry about the morning _in_ the morning. Go get some sleep.” Said Mary, softly. “And thank you, you did real good today.” Beatrice’s sigh suggested she didn’t agree, but she patted Mary’s shoulder gently, smiling a small, wan smile at her and Lilith.

“Wake me if you need help with Camila - or if she needs the hospital - or if -“

“Go to _bed,_ Beatrice.” Lilith cut in firmly, before her sister could work herself into staying awake for _another_ 12 hours. “We’ve got this, please, get some sleep.” Beatrice nodded, glancing around the room once more before steeling herself and turning on her heel. The sound of a door closing followed shortly after.

“What’s the bet she fusses over Ava for another hour or so?” Asked Mary, fiddling with the pen light Beatrice had left on the bed.

“A fool's bet, and you know it. It’s not even a question.” Lilith scoffed. 

“I’ll go check on ‘em in a minute. Alright then, Camila - look at me a sec?”

Camila wriggled and complained her way through a thorough check over. Between them Mary and Lilith had enough first aid experience to be relatively sure their younger sister warrior wasn’t going to drop dead overnight. 

Checking her ribs was another matter entirely. 

“Camila, will you get up, _please?”_ Mary’s voice was edging steadily from exasperated to infuriated, and Lilith was sure it was only a matter of time before she gave up or simply heaved the smaller woman upright.

“Camila, we need to check your ribs. _Then_ you can sleep, but not before.”

“Don’t _make_ me manhandle you, sister.” 

Camila giggled a sly giggle, muttering muffled Spanish into Lilith’s collar. Given the circumstances, it took a moment or two for Lilith to process the words, but when she did -

“Camilla - be _have_!” Camila threw her head back with dizzy laughter, and Lilith felt a traitorous flush darken her cheeks.

“Wait, what did she just say? Was it _dirty?_ ” Mary gasped, eyes suddenly lit with unholy glee. 

“Can we just get _on_ with this.” Lilith was finally at the end of her rope. Shuffling awkwardly, Lilith adjusted her loose hold on Camila before heaving them both upright.

“Liliiiith, that _hurts!”_ Camila squirmed again, colliding bodily with Lilith -

Lilith’s vision whited out, ears ringing as a blinding pain bit into her without warning.

For a second, it’s all she can do to stay standing. The starburst of agony overrides everything else.

It must be the end of her. The flesh must be melting from her bones. Her limbs are surely being torn asunder. She must be aflame, a living pyre. This is hell, fire and agony and screaming. This is her death, her eternal punishment.

And then, blessedly, it ebbs.

She comes back to herself in pieces. She hears Mary’s voice close to her ear, feels hands on her shoulders, tastes the tang of copper on her tongue and feels the sting of a bitten lip.

All of it, a benediction.

“Goddamn it Lilith, what the actual _fuck_ \- wake your ass up outta this or I swear to _God -!”_ Mary’s voice was close and loud, filled with frustration and a tinge of panic.

“I think she’s back - look, her eyes.” Camila murmured, soft and afraid.

“I’m fine - it’s over, I’m fine.” Lilith was hoarse, tired - her limbs cast from lead.

“Bull _shit_ you’re fine, what the _fuck_ was that?!” Mary exploded, grip tightening on Lilith’s shoulders. 

“Mary - I’m - it’s just-”

“Nope, sit your ass back down and tell me what in the name of all that is _holy_ is hurting you like that!” Lilith shivered at her words, as far from _holy_ as she had ever felt.

Under the combined weight of Camila’s hazy puppy-dog eyes and Mary’s belligerent stare Lilith sunk back to the bed. 

“My wound burns, sometimes. Camila must have nudged it.” Lilith spoke dispassionately, willing the trembling in her limbs to abate. She flicked her eyes down to Camila and did her best to arrange her expression into something soft and forgiving. Camila’s face suggested she had not done as well as she could have.

“I’m so sorry, Lilith.” Camila whispered, eyes huge and shiny with unshed tears.

“It’s fine, these - episodes are already less frequent than when - than before. Everything is fine.”

Lilith folded her hands carefully on her lap, eyes downcast.

“Right. Ok.” Mary ran a hand over her braids. “We need to talk about these ‘episodes’. All of us.”

Lilith gritted her teeth, a wave of helpless, seething anger washing through her at the tone - the myriad implications. Behind the anger lurked fear, thick and clinging. Horrifying memories, blood on her hands and whispers in her mind. Those same hands shook where they lay, clean and clasped together on her lap. And suddenly everything was splintering around her, within her -her breath catching in her throat and her limbs numbing even as she clenched her hands to fists. Her racing thoughts rippled like agitated water, shot through with something foreign, something _other._ Something that _whispered_.

Lilith closed her eyes, breathing deep. Regimented, like the start of every martial arts training session she could remember. Her heart beat strong and steady in her chest, as it always had.

“Hey. Lilith, it’s ok, _you’re_ ok. We’ll work this out.” Mary sighed out, tone abruptly soothing, and Lilith remembered her strong embrace in the necropolis - restraining, yes. But also holding the pieces of her together - keeping the fragments the tarask had made of her in the right shape.

Lilith had cried then - helpless in Mary’s arms, and she felt dangerously close to crying now. 

Clearing her throat and mustering every ounce of dignity she possessed, Lilith stood.

“We can talk about this later. Camila - let's have a look at your ribs.”

Camila, somber now but still woozy, complied. She lost her balance a handful of times in the combined effort of freeing her from her layers of cloth and leather, and Lilith winced as each time the smaller woman recoiled from her rather than risk leaning on her for support. 

If Lilith focused on the soft press of her fingertips to the bruised skin of Camila’s side, on the fiddly work of taping and bandaging, her hands almost felt like her own again.

Later, in the dark and with Camila curled warm against her chest, Lilith focused on the chill of the ice pack under her palm. Camila had eventually reclaimed her perch, citing the medicinal properties of cuddling with fuzzy serenity before falling promptly asleep. Mary had provided no help, simply laughing herself to sleep in the other bed. 

Lilith felt oddly calm, there in the warmth and quiet. Absently, she catalogued the chaos of the last few days - all of the things to fear and rage against, all the betrayals and secrets revealed. Her mind skated over their depth, leaving them textureless and bland - harmless. They were simply a series of facts and nothing more. 

It wouldn’t last, she knew. But for now, she let herself drift in the sterile serenity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when you stare at the same sentence for so long it doesn't even look like words anymore? Yeah, there was a lot of that here.


	3. Maps are of time, not place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past comes back a long way to haunt Ava, and nobody gets their recommended 8 hours of sleep.

Areala lay sprawled in the dust, her life’s blood pooling beneath and beside her, staining the sandy ground. Under the fierce sun she ought to have been burning, had been sweltering beneath her leathers and mail just moments ago, but now she was cold. 

Around her, a hundred voices shouted, the sounds of battle raged. She was ringed by a cohort of crusaders, the crucifixes in bold red upon their chests and their shields mostly hidden by blood.

Something twists in her stomach, below the oozing stab wound, deeper. Something twists in the air, too, and she thinks  _ this is it, this is the end. Yea though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil - _

But it is not a shepherd of the lord. The rip in the air spits forth a man. The battle seems to halt around him - men falling to their knees in awe. 

Areala is not awed, Areala is afraid. 

She is afraid as she hears him speak, accented and dispassionate as he bargains the loyalty of these men for her life. 

And then all she is is  _ pain _ \- a raging fire overtaking her, burning from the inside out. She  _ howls  _ with it. Mind blanked of anything but the agony, unable to speak, to move - to do anything but wait for the end.

And then she is Ava again. 

She is Ava, standing alone in the dark on dusty, cracked ground, heart filled with dread. Her breath mists in the air before her. She feels eyes on her, but no matter which way she looks she can see nothing but desolation. Even the sky is void of light, no stars look down upon her.

Abruptly, raised voices echo from the gloom - Ava knew them! Her sisters! And look, there is Mary - running toward her and crying out, if only Ava could make out the words. Ava tries desperately to move herself, to run to meet her sister, but is tied to the earth, limbs leaden.

And there is Lilith following close behind Mary - both twisting to shoot back at something Ava can’t make out in the darkness. Camila staggers after them, a look of fear on her usually sunny face. They are all bloodied and ragged; vast, jagged claw marks cut in their habits. Shadows fell upon them, breaking over their heads like waves and Ava yells out in helpless fear and rage as she struggles against her invisible bindings, hands groping for the cruciform sword - for  _ anything. _

Then, an insidious voice, a whisper both behind her and within her -

_ You were the first _ . 

Ava is rigid with fear. The voice - Adriel’s voice, whispers again.

_ You will be the last. _

Ava can’t even scream.

_ I will break the second from you if I must. _

Paralysed, all she can do is listen.

_ I will slaughter your half-breed guard dog first. _

Lilith screamed in agony, somewhere out in the darkness - abruptly silenced. Ava shivered, sick with fear and fury.

_ I will tear them apart. I promise you this - one by one until you open the ways for me. _

Then a chilling, piercing cry sounds behind her, birthing an icy dread that curdles in her stomach. Suddenly she is spun on the spot by a power other than her own. There loomed Adriel, a sickening smile upon his face. Clutched in his clawed hand, hoisted up by her throat, hangs Beatrice, pierced through the heart by the glowing cruciform sword.

Ava  _ screams _ -

— And woke still screaming, a strangled, wrenching cry that burned her throat. She was in the dark - she couldn’t - couldn’t  _ move - _

_ —  _ And then hands were on her and voices around her, garbled all together. With a click everything was illuminated in harsh light. She struggled against the hands trying to pin her - to hold her still.

“No no no! I won’t! I won’t do it! Stop! Let me  _ go!”  _ Ava’s breath sobbed in her throat, she couldn’t breathe. Wheezing, she lashed out blindly, but her wrists were caught and held in a warm, firm grip. Dimly she heard the voices above her - louder and closer but still indecipherable, her mind filled only with fear and pain and -

“Ava!” There was a hand on her face, firmly tilting her chin up to look at -

Beatrice, it was Beatrice.

Not dead, not held aloft by some hideous evil man. Not killed by Ava’s own sword.

And just like that, Ava was sobbing - deep, wrenching sobs that  _ hurt _ . But it was a good pain - raw and real and alive. Relief washed over her, leaving her trembling.

“Ava, it’s ok. You’re safe. We’re all safe.” Beatrice’s voice was a balm, soothing and warm and close. Blindly, clumsily, Ava wiggled to sit up - grasping Beatrice’s forearm before pitching forward dizzily. She was caught by strong arms and pulled into a hug. 

“I won’t do it! I won’t let him - please, I can’t do it!” Insensate, she babbled into Beatrice’s shoulder, shivering and barely aware.

Ava sobbed her fear and her grief and her relief into the crook of Beatrice’s neck, soothed for some timeless stretch by a soft hand at her back and gentle fingers through her hair.

Eventually, the rest of the world began to trickle in. She could hear a hushed conversation, the rustle of fabric as someone fidgeted. She could feel the aches of her body, feel the halo burning away her injuries inch by painstaking inch. 

When her tears seemed mostly to have ebbed, she felt Beatrice’s hands slow and stop.

“M’sorry.” Ava mumbled into damp fabric.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Beatrice murmured. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just a bad dream.”

Someone snorted. 

“Yeah, because  _ my  _ bad dreams often make me rattle furniture and glow like a child’s night light.” Mary’s voice scoffed from somewhere roughly level with Ava’s ankles.

Ava popped her head up from the shelter of Beatrice’s arms, indignant.

“It’s not  _ my  _ fault I’ve got this dumb lump of space metal in my back! You’d glow too, if you saw-” Ava’s voice caught entirely unexpectedly, and she swallowed heavily around the lump now lodged in her throat.

“What did you see?” Lilith was solemn, her dark eyes full of understanding. “It wasn’t just a dream, was it.” 

“You sound like you already know the answer to that.” Ava hedged, reluctant to give voice to the horrors still so fresh in her mind.

Beatrice squeezed her shoulder, reminding Ava of her comforting closeness - not that she’d  _ forgotten _ , pressed as close as they were.

“You were talking in your sleep.” Beatrice spoke apologetically.

“Yeah, and it sounded like you were having a  _ grand  _ old time watching us all  _ die.” _ Ava winced. She could still see it all, it had felt  _ so real. _

“I really hope it wasn’t a vision, it  _ can’t  _ have been.” Ava looked pleadingly up at the sisters, grim faced around her bed.

“Tell us what you saw.” Beatrice entreated softly, a far cry from Mary’s belligerent tone.

“I saw Areala.” Ava breathed into the expectant silence. “No, I  _ was  _ Areala, I think? I was there when Adriel gave her the halo. She was so scared.” Ava breathed in a ragged breath, smelling blood and sand and sweat and leather.

“Adriel saved her as a bargaining chip, to get the crusaders to help him, I think.” Ava’s back ached with the echoes of burning.

“What? That skeevy mother _ fucker _ !” There was a ripple of tutting from the assembled nuns.

“I saw it in the tomb, too. When he - he tried to take the halo.” Ava grimaced.

“Like, tried to take it  _ out  _ of you?” Asked Camila, horrified.

“Uh, yeah. He fully reached inside me and groped around a bit, hurt like a bitch.” Ava rubbed absently at her chest, her sternum.

Beatrice made a strangled noise at this, hand tightening drastically on Ava’s shoulder. 

“But then the dream changed, and I was me again. I don’t know where I was. And  _ he  _ was talking to me. Saying  _ awful _ things.” Ava closed her eyes, before rapidly deciding that was a terrible idea and that she absolutely didn’t want the image of anyone being impaled in her mind any more than necessary.

“You kept saying ‘I won’t do it.’ What did he want you to do?” Asked Lilith.

“He said I had to ‘open the ways’ for him? I - I don’t know - he said...” Ava gritted her teeth, trying to remember the whispered words. 

“He said I was the first, and I would be the last. And that he’d - he’d  _ break  _ me to get the second?” Ava’s voice pitched up into a question no one had any way to answer. “Then he basically started threatening to big fat McMurder  _ all _ of you until I did what he wanted?” The wobble in her voice really ruined the stab at levity.

“Well, that sounds  _ super.  _ I don’t know about you, but whatever it is this guy wants, we probably don’t want him to get it. Agreed?” Mary ran a hand over her face as she spoke with the aggressive calm of someone one step away from flying off the handle. 

“I think we can all agree that we should be stopping Adriel from achieving whatever it is he’s planning.” Lilith said, diplomatically, placing a calming hand on Mary’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m not super keen on getting you all killed either.” Ava grumbled, leaning into the reassuring warmth of Beatrice by her side.

“Well, good plan everyone, let’s not get  _ murdered. _ ” Mary threw her hands up in the air, shrugging Lilith off and stomping over to the door. “I’ll go start first watch, since we now  _ definitely  _ need one - someone come relieve me in a few hours.” And with that she was gone, heavy boots marching off up the hallway.

“We should contact Kristian Schaefer at ArqTech. See if he can get us access to any texts that might help us?” Camila’s soft voice lacked its usual cheer, and her jaw was set with a kind of tired anger. It was echoed on Lilith’s face, and on Beatrice’s - an exhausted determination. 

Ava felt a sudden surge of feeling - something soft and gooey and probably pink, for these women she had known for barely a fortnight. 

“Thank you. Really.” Ava tried to pour the new feeling into her words, all of a sudden aware of the weight of everything her sisters had shouldered for her. “And I’m sorry I woke you all.” Camila darted forward and wrapped Ava in a hug, rocking Ava back with its force.

“You don’t have to thank us. You’re one of us, yknow?” Camila’s words were muffled but warm, and she squeezed Ava reassuringly before releasing her.

“Camila’s right. We fight with you.” Lilith smiled, eyes crinkling the tiniest bit at their corners. “The OCS gets through difficult times  _ together _ .”

“We do. And we will - but it’s late. We can start planning in the morning. It’s probably late enough that we only need 2 shifts after Mary. I’d like the last, if no one minds.” Beatrice was all business, apart from the protective palm against Ava’s back.

“I’ll take middle! And the stars are so pretty out here.” Camila chirped, grinning. Business as usual.

“Camila, you’re  _ concussed  _ \- you only got up off my lap because we heard screaming.” Ava snorted unexpectedly at the image, earning herself a dour glare from Lilith.

“I feel  _ much _ better now though!” Camila insisted, even as she stumbled slightly into Lilith as the pair turned to leave. Lilith’s sigh was audibly exasperated.

The sisters departed in a haze of fond bickering, leaving Ava and Beatrice alone. Beatrice cleared her throat, slowly untangling herself from Ava. Ava shivered at the loss - of  _ warmth _ , totally just warmth, clamping down on her reflexive urge to cling tighter to prevent Beatrice moving too far.

“Are you feeling better?” Beatrice’s voice was soft, and Ava smiled.

“Yeah. Thank you for letting me cry on you again. I promise I won’t get in the  _ habit  _ of it.” 

Beatrice’s quiet scoff was exactly what Ava needed to hear.

Business as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens to the consistency of a light consommé...  
> Thank you for all the lovely comments - I'm currently far too awkward to reply to people, but please know I bounce around like an excited Labrador whenever I read 'em.


	4. There to the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A revelation, a conversation, and a dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while - in my defense, since the previous installment of shenunigans I've relocated from one end of the landmass I occupy to the other, which was a Whole Thing.  
> Here are some nuns I wrote about on the way.

The early morning sun slants through gaps in a dusty blind, hastily lowered and obstinately crooked. The light falls upon a dark wood table, lacquered and shiny despite the dents and pockmarks that litter its surface. The desk is in a state of organized chaos. To the untrained eye, there is little - if any - system in place to separate the mass of papers and earmarked notebooks, even a few awkwardly folded A3 photocopies of large manuscripts sit amongst the pile. Now especially, the desk is more disordered than usual - a large portion of its surface has been clumsily swept clear to make a space for a nondescript, slightly dusty cardboard storage box.

Kristian Schafer is sat in anxious silence, palms sweating soft rings of condensation onto the desktop where they rest either side of the box. He stares at it as one might stare at a feral cat that's made itself at home upon one’s porch. Rolling his shoulders and fidgeting slightly in his seat, Kristian forces himself to relax - to get on with it. The itching urge to tear into the box is close to the surface, and he takes a deep, controlled breath.

With trembling hands, he flips open the box - its lid is unsealed. He’d never been able to commit to taping it shut, even after it all. Like ripping off a plaster, he reaches swiftly into the box, hand closing immediately around the warm leather of the book sat at the top of the stack of buried memories. Reverently, Kristian lowers the leather-bound bible to the table, running shaking fingers over the worn cover.

Kristian closes his eyes, and he sees fire. He sees the flaming swords of the angels at the edge of the Garden. He hears angelic voices raised in a divine chorus, sees a burning form spinning before his mind's eye, wreathed in light. He sees the will of God scrawled in the clumsy hand of the child that shall lead him to -

Kristian takes a shuddering, gasping breath, clutching his head. His hand throbs beneath the bandage. So clumsy to cut himself like that, and so much paperwork to fill out because of it. Laboratory health and safety was so excessive sometimes; it wasn’t like he’d done anything dangerous. Jilian frequently heated most of her samples to ferocious temperatures, so he was hardly likely to get tetanus from it. Focusing on the pain in his hand helps distract him from the pain in his head, which is nagging and deeply distracting. He’s barely been able to concentrate, he’s barely slept - mind abuzz like a hornets nest, a thousand thoughts flying every which way. 

He had  _ so much  _ to think about. The world had shifted around him yesterday, his mind set aflame by the hand of the Lord - and he had no choice but to listen as He spoke. After all, it was everything he’d ever wanted, wasn’t it? Hadn’t he begged for this, for a sign? How could he turn away now - he’d already walked away from his faith once, but the Lord was offering him a chance - a choice. This was his redemption. This was his  _ redemption _ , and he would not fail.

...

Tired and angry, Mary slouched over the worn wooden picnic table, long legs stretched out in front of her and occasionally bumping Lilith’s shins. Mary paid her tutting no mind, sullenly glowering into the middle distance. 

They had bigger things to be worrying about than adequate lunches. 

With the weight of - of  _ everything  _ happening - their betrayal, every harrowing thing they had heard and seen and felt in Rome, Mary ached for action. The possessed she’d fought had only solidified her anger. For every innocent person she had to beat a demon from, all she saw was the filthy, lying piece of sh-

“Mary.  _ Mary!” _ A snap of fingers in front of her eyes brought Mary jolting back to the present, batting angrily at the hand before her eyes and scowling at Lilith until she retracted it.

“What?” She bit out, already sneering at Lilith’s eye roll, her haughty stare.

“I was  _ asking,”  _ Lilith spoke with exaggerated patience. “If you felt alright, no need to bite my head off.” 

“What do you think, huh?” Mary growled, brow pinched. She rubbed angrily at her face before cursing violently as the movement pulled a burning, wrenching pain from her shoulder.

“Language, Mary.” The chastisement came from Beatrice this time, returning in a flurry of rustling paper bags. Ava bounded around the table to fling herself onto the bench beside Lilith, before reaching grabby hands out to claim something from the pile of produce in Beatrice’s arms. “Is your shoulder troubling you again?” Beatrice asked, handing off bags to Camila and Ava as she peered concernedly over at Mary.

“It’s  _ fine.”  _ Mary snapped, wincing a little internally as she watched Beatrice’s expression flatten into that familiar placid, absent half-smile. Mary grit her teeth, leg bouncing under the table and hands tapping a disjointed rhythm alongside. They should be  _ doing  _ something - moving, driving. They were still at least 12 hours away from Cat’s Cradle - from the resources they needed to take  _ action. _

“I picked up what medical supplies I could. You should let me take a look at your shoulder.” Beatrice addressed the table in front of Mary, methodically unpacking a small pile of plastic-wrapped bits and pieces. Mary saw gauze, antiseptic wipes, all manner of pills whose labels she couldn’t read. “Camila found some clothing. Nothing much, but better than what we have.”

“Hey! I’m  _ loving  _ my new outfit, thank you.” Piped up Ava, mock outrage on her face, staring up at Beatrice from underneath the brim of her  _ ridiculous  _ baseball cap. “I think I look like a lumberjack.” The halo-bearer - demon-fighter and de-facto leader of all Warrior Nuns in the fight against the armies of Hell, wiggled in her seat like an excitable Labrador, beaming widely. She looked like a child playing dress up, swamped in an old flannel shirt that fell nearly to her knees and a pair of faded blue jeans that Camila had cuffed roughly 5 times before Ava stopped tripping on their hem. She did look a  _ little  _ like a lumberjack, Mary supposed, albeit a 6 year olds’ Halloween rendition of one. 

Beatrice blinked in faint bewilderment at Ava, softening out of her professional mask at Ava’s bright smile. 

_ Oh no _ , thought Mary,  _ there they go again _ .

“Yes, well. Father Bianco had only so much he could spare. So the rest of us will have to settle for something a little less… arboreal.” 

“I know you’re all just jealous of my sweet outfffff...” Ava trailed off, gaze pulled off to the right and eyes widening in shock. 

_ Shit.  _ Thought Mary, reaching for her gun. 

For a moment Ava sat, speechless. There was a rustling of motion around the table, four sets of hands flying to concealed weapons, fearing the worst. Ava merely stared fixedly ahead before blindly reaching out to shake Camila’s shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was tight, nearly breathless.

“Look. At. That. Dog! Oh my  _ God! _ ” The sudden tension broke in a chorus of disgruntled, relieved breaths.

Mary jammed her shotgun back into its holster, furiously grinding her teeth.

_ “ _ Ava, one day I _ will _ shoot you, and that’s gonna be on you.” Ava made a noise of agreement, clearly not listening. Scrambling to her feet, the Halo bearer remained entirely oblivious to the effect her outburst had had on her companions general stress levels. 

Beatrice was still standing, slowly unwinding from the tight, defensive posture she’d snapped into. The glint of metal betrayed the shruikan concealed in her hand. Camila was half out of her seat, twisted to block as much of Ava’s silhouette as possible. Lilith had simply dropped her head into her hands, and Mary was honestly tempted to do the same. God, this  _ child _ . 

“You guys - That dog is fucking  _ huge.  _ I didn’t know they - oh my god, it's so fluffy. I want to pet him. Do you think I can pet him?” Ava seemed to vibrate on the spot with excitement, finally looking away from the - admittedly, pretty fucking huge - dog, fixing big doe eyes on Beatrice.

“Ava…” Beatrice sighed wearily, fumbling the throwing star back into whatever concealed pocket it came from. “Please, can you…” The sheer, unfiltered exhaustion in her voice was so unexpected it seemed to draw Ava out of whatever little world she’d drifted off into. “Can you…  _ not _ do that again. We thought you’d seen demons.” Ava’s expressive face flicked through a slideshow of emotions as she twisted around, taking stock of the women sat around her, settling on earnestly apologetic.

“Oh  _ shit _ , my bad - I totally didn’t think, sorry guys.” Mary took a deep, calming breath in through her nose, counting to three in her head before exhaling slowly. She was calm, so calm. 

“Ava.” Mary’s voice was level, but the fear in Ava’s eyes as she met Mary’s gaze suggested that ‘calm’ wasn’t the vibe she was giving off. “You’d better go pet that stupid dog now, before I beat your ass for scaring the  _ shit  _ out of all of us.” Ava nodded rapidly, clumsily extricating herself from the bench, skittering back a few steps before determinedly marching toward the dog. 

As this was Ava, it wasn’t that easy. The young woman wheeled back around and hustled back toward their table.

“But wait, is it - like weird? If I go pet the dog? I should  _ ask, _ right? If I can pet the dog?” Ava gesticulated frantically as she spoke, nervous energy clear in her constant motion. Mary sighed. “And like, I totally don’t speak french, what if his - his people are french and I can’t ask, then I’ll look like a -”

“Ava.  _ Ava. _ Take a breath.” Beatrice was truly a well of patience. 

Ava did not, in fact, take a breath.

“Like I’ll be some weird random dressed like a lumberjack who’s just awkwardly staring at their dog because it’s the fuzziest thing I’ve  _ ever  _ seen and-” Ava - now pacing rapidly up and down alongside the picnic table, was one second away from getting smacked around the head by Mary when Camila intervened.

“Hey, c’mon Ava, let's go together!” Sweet, wonderful Camila grabbed Ava by her hands and tugged her away - out of Mary’s reach. “I’ll come too, so I can translate if you need me to!”

Ava beamed at Camila, bouncing a little in place.

“Is that Ok?” Ava blinked wide, guileless eyes at Beatrice, looking for all the world like a child asking for permission to go out and play.

“That’s a good idea. Thank you, Camila.” Beatrice maintained her usual diplomatic tone, but smiled gratefully at Camila over Ava’s shoulder as the halo bearer turned away. Camila grinned widely, winking exaggeratedly back.

“Alright Ava, lets go. Do you know how to say hello in french?” Camila and Ava nigh skipped away across the grass.

Mary slowly, slowly lowered her head to the table. The wood was cool, slightly damp against her brow.

“I cannot believe that girl.” Mary groused, voice muffled up against the tabletop.

“Can’t you? That was entirely in character for her.” Lilith remarked dispassionately. Beatrice huffed out a dry chuckle, slowly folding herself to sit beside Mary. 

“Mary, you should eat something. We all should, actually. There’s some sandwiches in one of these bags.” Beatrice heaved one of the bags towards her, tiredly sifting through its contents.

“You’d better eat something too, I still don’t think you should be doing all the driving alone.” Lilith tutted, reprimanding in tone, but Mary could hear the deep concern hidden beneath the words.

“Mary can’t drive with her arm as it is. Camila’s doing much better today, but there’s no way she’s safe to drive after a head injury like that. Ava cannot drive, for obvious reasons.” Beatrice listed the facts in a tone that brooked no argument. Mary heard her take in a deep breath, heard a slight hitch - pain? Stress? The pause gained weight, stretching into something tense.  


“And Lilith. Do you feel… well enough to drive?” Ahh, the elephant in the room. Mary sat up with a stifled groan of pain. Lilith was staring fixedly at the table, fingers twined together. Clean, human fingers with short, blunt nails. No hint of a claw to be seen.

“I - I feel well. Better today. More… myself.” Lilith slowly rubbed a thumb up and down the back of her hand, speaking quietly. Carefully.

“And when you felt - not yourself?” Beatrice asked, solemn.  


“I don’t know. I was there, and not there. I remember - I remember the necropolis.” Lilith ducked her head, silvery hair falling to cover her face. Mary watched her, remembering how she’d struggled in her arms. How she’d sagged, suddenly falling back into herself, remembered the way her whole frame had trembled.

“Do you remember how you got to the Necropolis?” Mary asked.

Lilith shrugged helplessly. Mary thought she wasn’t going to speak at all, but after a pregnant pause, the words burst from her - nearly spilling over each other in their hurry.

“I remember the Salvius child. I remember being in his room. He spoke to me, but they weren’t _his_ words.” Lilith took a shaky breath, her head still bowed. “He said Ava was at the door - and something in me just  _ roared.  _ It was this - this righteous, burning anger. But it wasn’t  _ mine!”  _ Lilith’s voice wavered, and she pushed her hair back with shaking hands. “And then I just - I knew I had to - to get to Ava. It’s like I could feel this - this rope pulling me toward her. I followed it and I was just  _ there! _ ” She let out a strained laugh, eyes a little wild. “How was I there? What  _ am  _ I?” 

Lilith shook her head, eyes haunted, her regal face shrouded in fear. Mary felt a thrumming surge of protective rage warm her, made her reach across the table to grasp her sister’s shaking hands between her own. Lilith, usually so stoic, so centered - Lilith who’d never once shown fear, not through all the ordeals they had faced together.

“You’re  _ Lilith _ . A sworn sister of the OCS.” Mary squeezed her hands, purposely meeting Lilith’s dark gaze. “You are our friend, our sister.”

“Exactly. We may not know what is happening to you, but we will not allow you to go through it alone.” Beatrice’s voice was resolute, and she placed a warm palm atop Lilith and Mary’s joined hands. “There’s a lot we don’t know. But you’re  _ not  _ alone, Ok?” Beatrice smiled softly. Lilith sniffed, clearing her throat before tentatively - meekly - nodding her head. Maybe not in agreement, but maybe in acceptance. 

The three sat in a comfortable, heavy kind of silence. Beatrice twisted to get Camila and Ava in her field of view, before stifling a tired laugh at the sight of them.

Mary and Lilith followed Beatrice’s line of sight. Ava’s slight form was nearly swallowed up beneath the exuberant attention of her new fuzzy friend, and the ridiculous picture they made broke the tension.

“I hope neither of you are allergic to dogs,” Beatrice smiled wryly. “I think Ava may bring a  _ little  _ fur back with her.”

Mary couldn't do anything but laugh.

But then, as they sat watching in quiet amusement, Camila abruptly stiffened. She reached for something in her habit - Mary and Lilith and Beatrice all tense as one. It’s a phone, not a weapon, but Camila doesn’t relax. Mary watched her shift on her feet, watched her glance in assessment at Ava, then over to the sisters at the table. They can’t hear what’s being said, but from Camila’s posture it’s nothing good.

After a short conversation, Camila tucked the phone away. Beatrice and Lilith are already getting to their feet, expressions grim. Mary grabbed at the supplies on the table, tucking them back into the bags. 

In moments Camila had extricated Ava from her new best friend and tugged her back to the others. The young sister warrior was pale, her jaw tight and brow furrowed with worry. Ava, stumbling a half-step behind, simply looked confused.

“That was Jillian Salvius. We have to get back to ArqTech. Her son - he’s gone.” Camila’s words were laced with fear, and Mary frowned.

“What did she mean, gone?” Beatrice asked, voice measured.

“He’s  _ gone _ \- there was a portal - the machine worked, and he went  _ through _ . Like - like Lilith.” Camila cried, frantic.

“What?!” 

“Holy  _ shit.” _

It wasn’t until they were all piled back into the van that Mary realized it had been Beatrice who'd cursed. 

God _ damn.  _ Things must be bad.


	5. Vestments of Purple and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ava is tired of these prophetic dreams. Beatrice is just tired.

This time she knows she’s dreaming as soon as the image solidifies around her. Ava stands in Cat’s Cradle - the hall dark and silent, a heavy stillness unlike it’d ever held in her waking life. She’s stood here before; she’d spoken to Shannon - she’d clutched at a book filled with the painfully short stories of her predecessors and seen this cycle of violence for what it was. She’d felt a purpose in her bones, a feeling so foreign and weighty that it had jolted her back to wakefulness. 

This time she’s alone. Instead of the journal, her hands are folded around the hilt of the cruciform sword, and its eerie glow is the only light in the gloom.

“Hello?” Ava calls, wincing as her own voice echoes back to her, small and timid and entirely not how she wanted to start whatever spooky dream conversation she’s about to have. Ava was beginning to get the gist of these weird halo-visions. Portents of doom, cryptic warnings - classic fantasy shit, she’d read enough to know how these usually went down.

Right on queue, Ava hears the clatter of pounding footsteps running and the ring of metal on metal. Turning on the spot, Ava can’t see any movement, can’t work out where the sounds were coming from. They grow louder, cries of effort and gasps of pain interspersed with the footsteps coming ever closer.

Ava spins on her heel to find herself face to - well, chin, really - with Shannon. The taller woman is close enough that Ava flinches away in shock, totally not shrieking embarrassingly in the process.

“Shannon! God, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Shannon doesn’t smile.

When Ava had dreamed of Shannon before, she had looked placid, serene - a little sad. At least until she’d screamed out in pain.

This Shannon was all fire, intensity in the gleam of her eye as she fixed Ava with a burning stare.

“Ava, you have to listen to me.” Her voice echoed as if from far away, but the urgency made Ava’s breath hitch, sword flaring a brighter blue in response.“You must not let Adriel open the Way.”

Ominous portent? Check.

“We weren’t planning on letting him do  _ anything -  _ wait, did you know he was alive?” Ava flinched back as a shuddering clang of metal on metal sounded close to her ear, still entirely without a sign of where it originated.

“Not until it was already too late for me - you must act! You were the first, unwitting but willingly led - you’re the last as well, don’t let him take it from you.”

Cryptic warning, also check.

The fine hairs at the back of Ava’s neck stand on end as a fearfully familiar scream cuts through the air like a knife, splintering the vision. Cat’s Cradle warps around her.

Like two points of fire, she feels Shannon's hands on her arms, glowing as if the pair of them are phasing through stone. Shannon leans close, eyes burning a vivid, Divinium blue.

“Everything I knew, I passed  _ sororis ad sororem! _ ”

The Latin rings loud in her ears above the cacophony, in more than Shannon’s voice, in a hundred others - 

\- And then in her own as she jolted awake in a whole body movement that sent her clattering painfully to a cold stone floor, the buzzing sensation in her limbs telling her she’d gone  _ through  _ at least part of the bed frame to get there.

“What the utter  _ fuck?!”  _ Ava yelped to the underside of her mattress. “I don’t  _ speak  _ Latin!”

“Ava?!” Bursting through the door knife in hand and hair flying, Beatrice looked badass as fuck for whatever godforsaken hour of the night it was - all highlighted in moonlight and shit. Ava slowly levered herself up into a mildly more comfortable sprawl, futilely attempting to spit out the mouthful of her own hair she’d ended up with. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Ava huffed, sliding out from beneath her bed and sitting up. “Just me and my _stupid. Ominous. Dreams_.” Ava punctuated her frustrated words by batting at the dust now clinging to her sleep shirt. “Oh hey, you speak Latin - what does _sororis ad sororem_ mean?”

“I - what?” Beatrice blinked owlishly down at Ava, slowly lowering the knife. Maybe the jazz hands with the ominous Latin had been a little much.

“Also I really like your pyjamas, they look super cosy.” They did - the baggy trousers were a pleasing pale blue flannel, and they looked like they’d be fuzzy. For some reason that, coupled with the oversized shirt and associated visible-neck-and-collar-bone situation did something funny to Ava’s lungs. Then again, that was probably the dust. 

“I don’t - Ava - what?” It looked like her abrupt awakening was catching up with Beatrice, she looked as soft and confused as Ava had ever seen her - all sleep mussed and squinting in the gloom.

“Sororis ad sororem? I'm pretty certain that’s what Shannon said - Unless she was fucking with me, but it  _ really  _ felt like she was trying to get a point across.” Ava sighed as she collapsed with flair to the bed before peering up at Beatrice, who appeared to be struggling - an honestly adorable level of confusion plain on her face. It kinda made Ava want to smooth out the furrows of her brow, which was 100% not a thing people do. Instead she elected to pat the mattress beside her to coax Beatrice closer, which she was at least pretty sure  _ was  _ a thing people did. 

After a moment of stillness Beatrice remembered the knife in her hand, placing it carefully down on the top of a chest of drawers before slowly making her way further into the room.

“I think you’d better start at the beginning.” She muttered, rubbing at her eyes as she slowly perched on the edge of the mattress. Ava frowned, suddenly considering the near non-stop 12 hours of driving Beatrice had managed with zero complaint. She remembered how Beatrice had dragged herself heavily into the swanky house, wordless and wan. How she’d muttered her polite goodnights and disappeared immediately upstairs into one of the cavernous bathrooms. Ava had gone in search of her later, finding her barely under the sheets in her chosen bedroom, door ajar and hair still near dripping wet from the shower. So what if Ava had made sure she wasn’t going to freeze overnight, Beatrice had saved her life enough times to warrant tucking into bed as often as fucking possible - Mary’s mocking laughter from the doorway be damned. Ava frowned, reeling herself back to task at hand. 

“Bea, you look like you’re about to pass out. We can totally talk about this in the morning.” Beatrice frowned, shaking her head, brushing absently at the damp hair falling in her eyes. 

“No, no - this sounds important.” Beatrice slowly pulled her sleeves over her hands. “Halo-bearers have been documented getting visions. And you mentioned Shannon?” Half twisted to face Ava, Beatrice honest to God swayed on the spot. Ava steadied the other woman with a hand on her shoulder.

“Beatrice, please - you really should just go back to bed.” Beatrice huffed an adorable noise, flicking her hand as if swatting Ava’s very reasonable concerns about proper rest away like she would an annoying fly. 

“What was it you saw?” Beatrice's voice was soft, head cocked to one side and expression earnest. A yawn caught her off guard, and Ava grinned at the valiant, entirely futile fight she put up against it. Yep, they were talking about this after Beatrice got her recommended 8 hours. The crises could all just  _ wait _ , for once. 

Something warm was coiling in her chest - new and weird and pleasant. On a hunch, Ava gently used her hold on Beatrice’s shoulder as leverage - slowly, slowly pulling the drowsy woman toward her. Beatrice didn’t struggle. She didn’t even seem to register the movement until she overbalanced, flailing briefly before falling with a soft thump to lay on her side.

“That was rude.” She muttered, half muffled by the sheets.

“Yeah yeah, obnoxious halo-bearer strikes again. You can fight me in the morning when you aren’t basically sleepwalking.” Ava expected it to come out teasing, but this weird new warmth in her chest was having none of it.

“Mhmm, yep.” Beatrice hummed, barely awake. Ava smiled again, reaching to fish the sheets out from under Beatrice’s slumped form.

“Hey, c’mon, shift over here a bit.” Ava coaxed, nudging gently at Beatrice and slowly coercing her up the bed.

“Mmm, no.” A whined protest was all she got for her efforts. “M’comfy.” Ava stifled a laugh, grinning fondly down at Beatrice, face smushed into Ava’s pillow, hands curled up under her chin, a corner of the blanket clutched in one loose fist. God, she was adorable. 

Beatrice was never going to hear the end of this. 

“Alright you, don’t steal the blankets or I’m kicking you out.” 

Beatrice didn’t reply, breathing deep and even as she slipped back asleep. Ava tugged the blanket up over them both, wriggling to settle in the narrow bed - quite a task, they definitely were  _ not  _ intended to be shared. For a moment, Ava entertained the idea of tiptoeing out and occupying Beatrice’s vacated bed, rather than squishing in together. But then Beatrice decided things for her, throwing an arm over Ava’s midriff, mumbling something entirely incoherent into the pillow.

And, well. Ava hadn’t really wanted to leave anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day Beatrice will get a full night's sleep. Alas, this is not that day.   
> We're gearing up to some of the crazy stuff I first wrote when this idea smacked me between the eyes. I wish I could say I'd be updating more regularly because of that, but unfortunately my real life is full of really inconvenient levels of work and responsibility. I will do my best to expedite the shenunigans, but I can promise nothing.   
> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos - I'm so thrilled people are enjoying this gay nonsense!


	6. The Mechanical Movement of Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is having a rather dramatic morning.

Time had a funny way of stretching, warping under the bright lights of the lab. Beneath harsh fluorescents it flowed in fits and starts, acting more like syrup off a spoon than it had any right to. Outside the four walls of her kingdom the sun rose and set, the earth spun on. She turned occasional fleeting glances toward the sky. Through the frosted glass security windows it was rendered down to its bare bones, pixelated blocks of colour that gave bland suggestions of day or night. Idly, Jillian spared a rueful thought for her circadian rhythm.

The outside world was of no real importance to her, not when here - in her own carefully curated one, she was a step away from opening the doors to another realm. Well, realistically the plan was closer to blowing the door off its hinges, but the time for finesse had passed. Weeks and months of planning had fallen by the wayside, replaced by a fervent urgency that kept her hands moving and her mind whirring long past the point of fatigue. 

Jillian had long since shrugged off her exhaustion as if she were shrugging off a fine coat - she passed it carelessly to the buzzing underlings that flitted around her in shifts throughout the hours. None of them could keep pace with her, of course, but their numbers facilitated her end goal. She revisited the data again and again, combed through the recorded activation of the Arc until the numbers seem forever burned into her mind. 

Because it didn’t make sense - after weeks of silence, it roared to life - unprompted, unplanned, as if it had a will all of its own. The prickling awful feeling that accompanied the opening of the vast gash in reality was not easily forgotten. It had looked so  _ wrong _ , hanging there in a perfect circle, confined within her machine but so  _ far _ from under her control.

And then Michael - 

Michael had - 

And then, like it had taken all it needed, the portal had snapped closed before her hands, and she’d felt  _ that _ more keenly than the hideous sensation of space-time warping right there in front of her. Could still feel the icy dread, the  _ fear  _ for her son setting her stomach churning and her vision blurring and her heart -

Jillian breathed in slowly.

So.

She knew it could be opened - had the data right in front of her. She  _ knew _ that power was feasible, had to have come from somewhere. She was just missing the key - the key to all of this, always a half-step behind. 

Michael had always murmured about the key. 

_ “First the key to the door on the ground, mummy. First the door on the ground.”  _ She could hear his soft voice, so earnest, heavy with the weight of an eerie certainty she’d come to be deeply familiar with.

He’d been  _ right _ \- right about it all, right  _ there -  _ in front of her and then gone and now she -

And now she needed the key to the door in the air.

“Dr Salvius -” The unexpected interruption was the first she’d suffered in hours. She barely graced the speaker with an impatient flick of her hand. “Jillian, please - I’m sorry to interrupt. But I think you should hear this.” 

Kristian Schafer bore the physical signs of the exhaustion Jillian wasn’t willing to wear herself, scruffy without his customary jacket - tie loose and shirt rumpled. Despite it, there was a bright gleam in his eye that caught Jillian's attention long enough to turn her from her screen.

“Yes?” He flinched a little at the tone but hurried forward, turning the tablet in his hands so she could see the screen.

“Fraser brought this to me to show you. He didn’t want to disturb you with an idea that wasn’t fully realised - but some of the things he said make a lot of sense in the context of the - ahhh, the  _ full  _ picture?” Kristian sounded enthused, a little wild eyed as he stuttered through an explanation Jillian was already tuning out.

The data was the same as what she’d been reviewing this whole time - but the focus was entirely different. Jillian had been looking for similarities in the energy signature to the previous attempts that had been made to open the portal - looking for any hints to reveal the step she was missing to re-open the way through - the way back to her son.

But this - this looked at the discrepancies, microscopic irregularities in the energy signature. And there were many, almost rhythmic in their nature

Almost a pattern - a familiar one at that.

“Wait - we’ve seen that  _ before. _ ”

...

Kristian was afire. 

The buzzing, clamouring thoughts that had overtaken his mind had calmed, replaced by a blissful serenity. He was awash with cleansing light, and with it - awash with certainty. The steps were laid out before him, marked in fire. He offered up heartfelt praise, on his knees before God and mantled with new purpose. He felt almost giddy with it, overcome anew whenever he felt the voice of the Lord; words and images like a hot hand gripping the back of his neck. 

His own hand burned still, the cut across his palm itched and tugged painfully - a reminder, a badge of office. It burned as he cradled the tablet, peering down at the proof that the key had been so close within his grasp, within these walls. The trace on the screen proved it. The lens of science pulling the will of the divine into sharper focus - the rabbit-fast echo of a heartbeat picked out in the spikes of power that ripped open the veil guarding the gates of Heaven. The girl, the girl carrying a shard of the divine - she was his mission.

The girl and her sisters had been to the door on the ground - they had  _ seen  _ it, and he had to bring them here to hear of it. They were carrying pieces of a grand puzzle he was assembling, and their minds were not open enough to the Lord to have a  _ hope  _ of seeing it. It wasn’t their fault - they were faithful, they would learn. He would gladly show them. The promise of spreading this new, grand Word brought him a fierce joy. They were so  _ close _ \- the near edge of the Divine as bright and sharp as the blade poised to cut the rot away. All the fear and pain and death, cut away. Everything would be bright and splendid and he would bathe in the light of the Lord and be anointed. All would be at peace.

Jillian had paved the path. Kristian hoped his Lord would turn a merciful eye on the woman who held the word of cold scientific enquiry above the clear ringing truth. She had suffered for her sins - suffered still even as she guided the world back toward the edge of the garden. Kristian could laugh at the irony. How funny that the fateful banishment, those first sins wrenching mankind from paradise, were committed by a woman with a thirst for knowledge. Jillian was reaching for an altogether different apple, and so her own search for truth would be the act that returned man to Eden.

“We need to get those nuns back here.” Jillian was connecting the pieces, the dominos tumbling in order. “They’ve been informed about the portal - I think there are a few more answers I’m owed in return for my hospitality.” Kristian nodded eagerly.

“Your assistant told me they arrived at your property this morning - early.”

“Good.” Jillian’s eyes are far away as she surveys the pieces on the board. “I want them in here before the rest of their order descends on them and we never see them again.”

Kristian smiles, nods in agreement. Everything is proceeding according to plan.

...

Camilia had not been a morning person before convent life had introduced mandatory 6am mass into her life. It had been quite something to adapt to, requiring the frequent intervention of her new sisters and far,  _ far _ too many alarm clocks. However, a silver lining to bruised ribs and the stress of fighting demons was being awake to enjoy the stillness of dawn before another day of chaos. It was helping her continue projecting the kind of cheer she hoped to be known for. She was a firm believer that all terrible situations were a little easier to deal with if you could smile about them. If the last weeks were anything to go by, she’d be getting plenty more data to test her theory. 

Camila knew it was going to be an interesting day when she peered out of the kitchen window to see a SWAT team assembled at the doorstep, backlit by the first rays of dawn. This, coupled with the tasteful branding on their body armour probably explained the 3 missed calls she’d woken up to. With a sigh she smoothed out the front of her habit, made sure the crucifix around her neck was nice and visible, fixed her most guileless smile on her face and swung the door open. 

A flurry of confused movement swept through the men, sending bright flecks of light glancing off the muzzles of their weapons as they reflexively swung up to chest height.

“Oh, goodness me!” She yelped loudly, eyes wide and hand dramatically pressed to her heart. There was a moment of tense silence. From behind their odd little half-helmets, Camila could see the awkwardness settle in across the faces of her would-be assailers. Perfect. “Please, gentlemen!” Camila beseeched. “There is no need for the weapons. We have little of value, but please, take it and go peacefully!”

The closest man cleared his throat uncomfortably, pointing his semi-automatic machine gun at the floor rather than Camila’s heart and gesturing to his companions to do the same.

“Ahh - excuse us, Sister. We’re here to, uhh,  _ escort  _ you to ArqTech?” The man rubbed a gloved hand at the back of his neck, before taking off his helmet and clutching it to his chest as if it would hide the assault rifle slung there.

Six or so minutes later, Mary and Lilith ghosted down the stairs. They moved as silently as creeping fog, alert and ready to deal with the intruders they could hear conversing in the kitchen. The scene was not quite what they’d been expecting, if the bewildered stares Camila was met with were to be believed. The young woman peered around at the combat-ready squadron of men gathered around her at the table, gingerly sipping their tea. Yes, she supposed - even for them, this was a little odd. Camila shifted her weight, feeling the reassuring press of several purloined magazines against her hip. Camila would hate to be wasteful - there was no way these gentlemen needed  _ all  _ that ammunition.

The best thing about wearing a habit was definitely the pocket space.

Camila turned her bright smile to greet her sisters. If morning mass had been this exciting she’d never have had _ half _ as much trouble waking up for it.

…

Lilith was about as keen to return to ArqTech as she was to blow up the other half of the Vatican. The whole bizarre process they’d undertaken this morning - complete with the meek-nun-charade and heavily armed escort - was just an unnecessary extra level of complication. To say she had a bad feeling about this was to be putting it mildly. The headache certainly wasn’t helping either.

Their SUV had rattled wildly around corners, its occupants swaying this way and that. One of the men laughed at something Camila said. Mary’s jaw had ticked in the way Lilith recognised as signaling simmering rage, and Lilith was grimly glad that she wasn’t alone in her discomfort. Besides Camila - still high on successfully hoodwinking an entire SWAT team, the mood in the van had been  _ tense.  _ Beatrice looked to have been carved from stone, sat with hands clasped and eyes downturned. Beside her Ava was abuzz with energy - anxiety clear in every jerky movement, deepening each time Beatrice refused to meet the puppy-dog gaze she fixed her with. Lilith had swallowed 3 or 4 different sarcastic comments but eventually succumbed to the temptation to roll her eyes at Ava - immediately regretting it as the nagging pain in her temples stabbed at her.

Eyes closed against the staticky-white biting in her skull, Lilith had sought out the calm alertness that was as second nature as the balance of a blade in her hand. She had always been good at compartmentalising, after all.

Deep in the bowels of ArqTech once more, Lilith turned her focus to quietly memorising guard positions and cataloguing their route as they marched deeper into the building. Her sisters were all clearly doing the same, fallen into a loose box formation with Ava safely tucked at the centre. Something about hovering protectively at the halo-bearer’s left shoulder soothed the buzzing ache in her head, but Lilith had precisely zero intention of unpacking  _ that _ any time soon. 

All of Lilith’s memories of Jillian Salvius were coloured with pain and anger and confusion. Seeing the woman sat stiffly behind her ostentatious desk only brought flickers of feeling - a hard bed and a bone-deep weariness. Fragments were clear - Camila beside her humming a quiet, soothing tune. Beatrice peering down at her, worry written clearly in the furrow of her brow. 

Jillian throwing her body between Lilith and her son - wrapped tight around him, horror in her eyes. That memory, that visceral  _ fear _ was burnt indelibly into Lilith’s mind. It filtered into the fuzzy half-memory of staring at her own memorial, every blank spot in her recollections of the chaos of the necropolis, the fight in the square. It wrapped around her chest like the white-hot tugging that had  _ pulled _ until the very air rippled and space distorted around her. It permeated everything up until the bright, blinding light of the halo seared the fog away. 

Stood before Adriel, Ava had burned like a star.

Stood before Jillian Salvius, Ava fidgeted.

Dr Salvius was sharper, colder than Lilith recalled. The chill in her voice shivered through her sisters, tensing Beatrice’s posture and furrowing Mary’s brow. The soldiers disguised as security filtered out at a dismissive wave of their employers hand, and the doctor’s expression somehow grew even icier as several of the men returned Camila’s cheerful farewell.

“Ladies, thank you for joining us this morning.” Something about the woman sat hawk-like behind the desk was setting Lilith on edge, and she shifted slowly to get the whole room in her sights. Beatrice moved with Ava like a bodyguard, a half step behind her and completely in sync. 

“Not quite sure what we did to warrant the escort, but it beat driving.” Mary drawled, sardonic in a way that Lilith knew from experience was honed to provoke a response.

“I saw the mess you made in Vatican City.” Dr Salvius rose to the bait. “If anyone were to attract trouble between my beach house and my lab it would be you.”

“Hey, the Vatican was like - mostly not our fault!” Ava piped up, indignant, glancing habitually at Beatrice for support. It was  _ almost _ sweet, Lilith supposed - how quickly Ava had grown used to checking in. 

“So, whose fault  _ was  _ it, hmm? I think I’m owed an explanation, given how much my technology was involved in what’s being reported as an act of  _ terrorism _ .” Dr Salvius bit out the words, fixing each of the sisters with a heavy stare.

Lilith was no stranger to heavy stares, unflinching as the doctor turned to survey her.

“We successfully located the tomb, and Ava was able to phase in as planned.” Beatrice was calm, ever the diplomat’s daughter. “None of the ammunition or explosives employed were in any way affiliated with your company, Dr Salvius. Not even through the subsidiaries you’ve recently acquired to supply your, ah, security services.” Beatrice tilted her head slightly, surveying Dr Salvius with a placid expression that entirely contradicted the threat implied in her ‘casual observation’. Perhaps Beatrice wasn’t quite as calm as she appeared. 

Dr Salvius clenched her jaw.

“ _ Something _ in that tomb triggered the activation of the Arc.”

“Nothing in that tomb can offer you a viable power source, doctor.” 

“Well, you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take you at your word,  _ sister _ .” Dr Salvius scoffed, fussing with some papers on her desk, before pulling a tablet towards her. “I’ve been working on the Arc for years. My lab has demonstrated the opening of a stable portal to another  _ dimension - _ another plane of  _ existence. _ Replicable, and with robust peer reviewing. I wouldn’t expect you to fully understand the significance of this scientific breakthrough, but I  _ do  _ expect you not to treat me like a fool.” The doctor stood, terse words growing in volume as she gained momentum. 

Something prickled down Lilith's neck. 

“I saw what came out of that tomb, and I can tell you it’s gonna be no help to you.” Mary was quiet, but her voice carried the weight of grim certainty. Lilith remembered the howl of pain as she’d heaved Mary from a writhing, clawing mass of the possessed. They’d all come so close to death. “There were no bones, doctor - just a man claiming to be an angel.” Mary stepped forward to Beatrice’s side, absently buffeting Ava back toward Lilith. Pushing her further out of the doctor’s reach. So, Mary felt it too.

“A  _ man _ \- what, has the pope been having people buried alive now? Not exactly what I expected of the catholics, but I shouldn’t be surprised.” The doctor laughed, a little manic around the eyes. 

“Whatever he is, he’s been down there in the dark for 500 years. And now he’s free to do whatever the fuck it is he wants.” For once, Lilith didn’t begrudge Mary the foul language. It seemed entirely appropriate, all things considered.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be the tomb of the angel who’s ‘halo’ is in your back?” Scornful now, Dr Salvius turned to Ava.

“It’s not his.” Said Ava, serious and certain.

“It’s not his.” Thundered Lilith, in eerie unison.

There was a moment of surprised silence. Her sisters exchanged a near-comedic series of glances around them, while Ava simply blinked owlishly up at her, her expression an open book reading just as shocked and afraid as Lilith felt. The prickling down the back of her neck grew in intensity, headache throbbing stubbornly at her temple.

“Whatever he is, he is extremely dangerous.” Beatrice calmly breezed past whatever  _ that  _ was - “No doubt you saw the number of people hospitalised in the aftermath of his appearance?” 

Lilith flinched, there was blood on her hands and on her arms and on her face and a  _ burning  _ inside her and  _ screaming -  _ “It was reported as a gas leak, I believe. A case of - mass hysteria, doctors are saying.” Up close to the desk now, Beatrice’s tone was flinty,  _ angry. _ “Dr Salvius, that was  _ possession.  _ He commanded them to kill us, and they very nearly succeeded.  _ That  _ is the power of this realm you’re fighting to breach.” Beatrice’s voice shook. “You said you were reaching for heaven, doctor, but how can you be so sure that is what’s on the other side.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine that gif of Mushu surrounded by smoke dramatically sitting up yelling "I LIVE!"  
> Yeah.


End file.
